


He Broke Me

by simone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hell, M/M, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simone/pseuds/simone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's time in hell, and Alastair's clever deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Broke Me

The dark smell of burning flesh filled his mind with so many unyielding memories, that Dean was unnerved to admit that it was almost familiar to him. But the rest of the pit was not familiar, nor could he ever even chance to describe it as so. As a human, unabashed, he’d related his life to a hell on earth, a joke with Bobby or Sam that had come back to bite him in the ass. Hunting side-by-side with his brother and Bobby’s firmly guiding hand he was undeniably happy, if in small doses, yet still some form of it. Of course he’d forgotten what that felt like really, what happy was. The only thing he could remember was the warm brown in Sam’s eyes, the heady scent of the leather in his father’s coat. And sometimes barely, just barely in the dark enfolds of reality trapped somewhere in his twisted soul, he could recall the feel of his mother’s soft hands on his face, comforting, loving. 

There wasn’t much Dean left really in there. The flesh of his body was cast somewhere in the dimness, leaving open sore wounds in the wake that bled freely onto the nothing beneath raw feet. His irises lost their deep ocean green, favoring a new blackness that complemented the brilliantly red blood vessels coating the whites of his eyes. With each thrust of his threadbare muscles he could feel the energy of his being transferred from his blunt weapon to the battered body of the soul he tortured with his own two hands. Screams erupted, so shrill and desperate that his eardrums had long since burst through, exposing the innards of the organ as it sputtered blood into the coarse hair of his sideburns. He ripped and tore and did whatever he could to force the pain he’d felt, the things he’d endured on this thing in front of him. 

Because why didn’t it fucking deserve to suffer? This hunk of meat and spitting cries before him. He’d suffered. He’d suffered 30 years of it, 30 years strung up on the rack begging for forgiveness, for release. He’d clutched the amulet snaked around his neck each time his body was stripped apart, skin peeled away inch by inch to the music of his tormentor. Yet he held onto it for dear life so he would not, could not, turn into something he was not. He told himself he would suffer a thousand more years just to save his humanity. He owed it to John, to Bobby, to Ellen and Jo and Ash, to Sammy. Sammy, for god’s sake, his little brother out there all alone as he faced each day down here to keep him alive. 

And then one day, Alastair came and ripped the cord from his spine and held the burning hot metal in his palm for Dean to see as he crushed it to dust that filtered through his red fingers. “I’d like to propose a deal, Winchester,” spit the demon, his teeth an inch from Dean’s blistered face. “Can’t take it anymore? Can’t take another day?” he hissed, cackling with sick laughter, his breath foul in the nose of the broken boy. 

“You’ve said it a hundred times,” Dean gasped, “I already know your deal.” Alastair’s gaze was firm and angry, his lips a chapped line as he listened passively. 

“I suppose,” the demon cocked his head, “you’re going to refuse me again?” He paced circles in front of where Dean hung, restrained. “After all this time, you’re still prepared to continue fighting? To hold on…” He chuckled darkly, “Hold onto what, Winchester? Humanity?” He rolled his eyes bitterly, taking an exasperated breath. “Humanity…” Alastair trundled the word on his tongue, inspecting Dean with narrowed eyes. “Humanity makes you weak!” he screeched, punctuating his viscous words with an unforgiving outbreak, ripping and tearing and pulling until the boy retched violently and yelled for him to stop, to wait. 

“I’ll take your deal,” Dean panted, his face grim, mouth curved into a broken grimace. He lifted his gaze slowly; his defeat clearly resonated in the drooping of his lids. “You win, demon,” he choked, “you win, you broke me.” With the destruction of the amulet, his last hope of redemption was stolen, his last hope to be saved and see the face of his brother again. The strength inside of him crumbled to nothingness, replaced with something that could only be described as demonic. 

Alastair’s gleeful laughter echoed through the chambers of Hell, alerting every tortured soul in range to the defeat of the Winchester boy, and his acceptance into the ranks of the Damned.


End file.
